


I'd Take Care Of You If You Ask Me To

by flymeofftoneverland



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Dick Jokes, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Getting Together, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Protective Derek Hale, Sick Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27534520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flymeofftoneverland/pseuds/flymeofftoneverland
Summary: Stiles gets sick and Derek is the only one who notices. Domestic fluff and obscene amounts of chicken noodle soup ensue.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 71
Kudos: 626





	I'd Take Care Of You If You Ask Me To

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvanesDust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvanesDust/gifts).



> This is for Dori. I love you.

“ _Achoo!_ ” Stiles groans after what must be his millionth sneeze in the last hour. In fact, he’s pretty sure he broke the world record in sneezing, if that was even a thing. Is it a thing? He tries reaching for his phone to google it but everything _hurts_ and he can barely muster enough energy to groan miserably, let alone reaching across the bed.

Whatever. It’s not like he has any messages, anyway. His dad is currently working three different homicides, Lydia is on a weekend trip to Big Sur with Jackson, and Allison’s parents are out of town, which means that Scott’s tongue is currently setting up camp in Allison’s throat. Not to mention, Derek, who’s been so busy training the betas for their next attack that he’s barely even looked at Stiles for the better part of two weeks. Speaking of, there had been a pack meeting a few hours ago and, even though Stiles hadn’t told anyone he was too sick to make it, he still hadn’t gotten any concerned calls or texts asking where he was and if he was okay. 

Well. No use moping about it. He is an adult, damn it! He could handle a little chest cold on his own. No biggie. It’ll all be oka- “ _achoo!”_

“ _Ugh_ ,” Stiles groans dramatically into his empty apartment, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Fuck me.”

“Maybe once you feel better.”

 _Oh no_. Stiles knows that voice. That voice belongs to a particularly stoic, self-deprecating, hotter-than-the-sun, scowly werewolf with kaleidoscopic eyes and a tendency to give Stiles the _most_ inappropriately-timed boners. Apparently, all his dick cares about is seeing Derek’s sweaty, toned abs-even when those abs were busy fighting off a concerning amount of trolls.

“Please be a fever dream, please be a fever dream, please be a fever dream,” Stiles whispers, squeezing his eyes shut under his arm.

“What?”

 _No, no, no!!!!_ This was happening. Derek was actually here in his apartment-the sound of his footsteps growing closer-while Stiles was sweaty and gross and definitely had several bats in the cave. He sniffles, trying to will them away so he can be at least three percent less disgusting. His Spider-Man pajamas probably aren’t helping his case, either. 

He counts to three and forces himself to finally remove his arm, thus revealing his red nose and watery eyes to the man he’s been pining after for the better part of three years. _Well, here goes…_

He opens his eyes and braces himself for the moment when Derek abruptly runs away screaming, leaving a Derek-shaped hole in his drywall. _Damn, that’s gonna be a bitch to fix_.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is what Derek _actually_ does.

Stiles tries not to shiver as Derek sits on the edge of the bed and wordlessly presses the back of a large hand on his forehead, feeling for his temperature. After a moment, Derek’s usual scowl deepens and Stiles thinks he must be running a fever, but Derek’s hand feels so _good_ and he’s _so_ tired, so he gives into his urges and closes his eyes, letting out a soft hum of approval.

“Feels nice,” he slurs. Oh. Maybe he’s worse off than he thought. 

Derek’s mouth turns down and he looks at Stiles with the same heart-wrenching level of concern that he does whenever Stiles so much as scrapes his knee after a night of fighting off big bads. It’s adorable and absolutely not fair. Not when it actually makes it seem like Derek could actually care about him, when Stiles knows good and well that, to Derek, he’s nothing more than Scott’s annoying, loud-mouthed sidekick with ADHD and a penchant for curly fries. 

He’s broken out of his train of thought when Derek waves a hand in front of his face, still frowning.

“Stiles? Hello? Can you hear me?”

Stiles hums again and does his best to nod. He’s pretty sure his head moves, but he really can’t be sure anymore. 

“Jesus, why didn’t you call…” Derek mutters to himself as he gets off the bed and heads for Stiles’s bathroom. 

After a few minutes of listening to Derek rattling through what Stiles can only assume is his medicine cabinet, Derek reappears with a bottle of Tylenol and a capful of Day-Quil. 

“Here, take these,” he says, handing Stiles the Day-Quil and making work of unscrewing the cap of the Tylenol bottle, dropping two red and blue capsules in Stiles’ palm and passing him the old water bottle on his nightstand. “I’ll be back.” Derek pads off to the kitchen without another word, leaving Stiles to resume his previous internal groaning. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes before Derek is gently shaking him awake. _Shit_. He must’ve fallen asleep while Derek was in the other room. He knows he has a tendency to snore when he’s stuffy. That, and his proneness to drooling could not have made for a pretty sight.

“Here, have this,” Derek says, resuming his spot on the edge of Stiles’ bed-a bowl of steaming hot chicken noodle soup perched in his lap.

“Holy shit, did you make this?!” Stiles asks incredulously. 

Derek shrugs nonchalantly but Stiles isn’t too far gone not to notice the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Blow,” Derek instructs, holding up a spoonful of piping hot soup to his mouth.

“Alright, but after, can I have my soup?” He teases, waggling his eyebrows.

Derek’s entire face turns a bright pink this time and he practically shoved the spoon into Stiles’ mouth.

Just as Stiles is about to think of more ways to tease him, his taste buds are suddenly perking up, soaking in all the warm, comforting flavors of juicy chicken, chewy egg noodles, and a myriad of herbs and vegetables. 

Before he can think the better of it, he lets out the most humiliatingly pornographic moan of his life.

“Fuck, that’s good!” He doesn’t even notice how Derek’s jaw drops-not when he’s too busy downing spoonful after spoonful of liquid heaven. He probably looks psychotic-slurping down boiling hot soup at a pace that would probably imply that he hasn’t eaten in years.

After what feels like seconds, he’s downed the last of it and can’t help but to pout.

“Want some more?” Derek asks with a small, fond smile.

Stiles perks up and nods enthusiastically.

Derek flashes him another smile and heads back to the kitchen to refill his now empty bowl. 

* * *

The rest of the day passes by in a blur of soup, naps, Star Wars marathons-Stiles knows Derek secretly enjoys it-and surprisingly soothing foot rubs, wherein Derek massaged vapo-rub into the soles of his feet. 

By the time the sun is setting, he’s feeling almost completely better. Key word being _almost_ , but he’ll take it! All he’s left with is a pesky stuffy nose, a little bit of a sore throat, and a low-grade fever. Definitely a huge improvement from this morning. 

After they finished a few Star Wars movies, they had decided to watch reruns of Brooklyn-99. Just as the latest episode ends, Stiles turns to face Derek.

“Hey, Derek?” He asks shyly.

Derek hums in acknowledgment, reaching to clean some crumpled tissues off of Stiles’ covers.

“How’d you know?”

“Know what?” Derek asks, still cleaning up.

“To come here. Today. How’d you know?”

“You weren’t at the pack meeting.” He shrugs.

“Oh. I didn’t think you’d notice.” It’s true. Why would Derek even care whether or not Stiles shows up to their meetings. After all, it’s not like he’s actually much use to them, what with being human and all.

Derek stops what he’s doing and finally turns his full attention to Stiles, fixing him with an intense stare. “I always notice when you’re gone.”

Stiles’ mouth parts open and he sucks in a small breath. Derek’s eyes bore into his, looking at him with so much passion and ferocity that Stiles doesn’t know if he can take it, and suddenly all Stiles can focus on is him. Everything else goes away. There’s no more furniture, no more outside world. He can’t even hear the voices on tv anymore. All he can think is _Derek Derek Derek._

After what feels like hours-but was probably only a few seconds-of the most intense staring contest of Stiles’ life, Derek arises from his perch on the side of Stiles’ bed.

“Well, um,” he started, clearing his throat. “I should probably get going.”

Stiles feels his heart sink to his stomach and he’s suddenly feeling even worse than he did this morning. 

“Oh. Yeah. _Yeah_. Sure. Um. Thanks. For today. It means a lot,” he stumbles out, looking down at his hands and picking at a thread on his blanket. 

He expects to hear Derek’s footsteps walking towards the front door, but instead he hears silence. A warm hand is gently tucked under his chin and lifts his head up so he’s looking right at Derek, who’s currently looking at him with such intensity and-...is that... _adoration_ ? _Affection_? No. Couldn’t be.-that Stiles can’t help but to suck in a sharp breath.

Before he knows what’s happening, Derek leans down and presses a chaste kiss against his clammy forehead. _Holy shit_.

“No! Don’t do that, you’ll get sick!” He protests, pulling away, and trying to ignore how the skin that Derek’s lips touched is suddenly on fire.

“Werewolves don’t get sick,” Derek reminds him. Oh. Right. 

Stiles stares at him for a moment, taking in his fond expression. Come to think of it, Derek hasn’t looked at him with contemption for longer than Stiles can remember right now. In fact, lately, Derek has been nothing but kind to him-always going above and beyond to keep him safe, comfortable, and well fed. 

_Holy shit_. Could Derek like him too?! 

He doesn’t know if it’s the cold or the cough medicine, but Stiles is feeling bold. So fuck it. _Here goes nothing_.

“Um, so. In that case, could I maybe do this?” Stiles leans up, giving Derek plenty of time to pull away. Except he doesn’t. In fact, he leans in closer. And now. Well, _now_ , they’re kissing. And, man, is it _amazing_. 

Stiles’ lips are chapped and the skin around his nose looks like it was rubbed raw with sandpaper, but Derek doesn’t seem to mind. Not one bit.

After a minute, they have to break apart. Derek had kissed him so sweetly, so gently, that Stiles can’t help but to flash him a big dopey smile, which Derek is quick to return with one of his own.

“So, um, you think we could do that again? Now? And once I’m better? And maybe also just all the time after that too?”

Derek, as usual, remains a man of few words. But stiles still gets his answer-in the form of another kiss.

 _Yes_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Take Care by Beach House
> 
> (Psst this is my first solo fic and I wrote it all late at night on my phone so I apologize for any mistakes.)
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr! @sterekficrecs


End file.
